


The Price of Success

by LittlestBeanBug



Category: Hamilton - Fandom, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Drunk Alexander, Drunkenness, Ficlet, Grief/Mourning, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, One Shot, extreme drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 19:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5468600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlestBeanBug/pseuds/LittlestBeanBug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mr. Hamilton, come in. They brought him in a few hours ago. He’s lost a lot of blood, and the wound has quickly become infected...” A low moan filled the room, cutting off the rest of the doctor’s speech. Blood rushed out of his face, making him lightheaded. He knew that voice, but it couldn’t be. The war was over. The war was over."</p><p>Just when Alex finally thought things were going his way, and he might soon be satisfied, someone blows all his dreams away. </p><p>(AU In which John is at the Battle of Yorktown, but terrible things ensue anyways. It seems as though the story cannot be changed.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Success

**Author's Note:**

> If angst and sadness aren't really your thing, this fic is probably not for you. There is a major character death in this, but the specifics surrounding this death are not touched on greatly. There is no gore or explicit details. Hamilton does drink a lot of liquor and has a drunken confrontation with Washington. Once again explicit details are not mentioned. 
> 
> This awful idea seems from a long conversation from my dear friend, and a random Spotify happenstance. (Say something played right after The Battle of Yorktown, then Non stop. Blame Spotify!)
> 
> This is my first ever fic, so input is always helpful. This fic is also unbeta'd, and all historical discrepacies are my own fault and should probably be ignored. If anyone wants to volunteer to be my beta, I'd love it. Plus any prompts would be amazing! I'm pretty sure this is just a one shot, but I could be persuaded otherwise. I hope you enjoy and don't cry (some crying is appropriate, I cried, my friend cried, Hamilton cried, there's a good chance Washington cried.)

It had been a week of straight fighting, non stop moving, commands, and feeling the weight of his responsibility to his men- to history, all of which played a role in Alex’s exhaustion. Yet, he relished in the movements, the authority he exerted over his men, and the adrenaline that sung through his veins at the thought of fighting for America, of dying for America. He was slumped in his chair, on the verge of deep sleep when suddenly shouts rang throughout the camp. He sprinted out of his tent, shrugging on his jacket, and trying to tie his laces with one hand, when he ran straight into Lafayette.

“Laf! I apologize! Are we under attack? Why wasn’t I warned? Where is his Excellency? Should I call my troops in?....” Alex trailed off, blinking widely at the bright smile on the frenchman’s face.

“Mon ami, I think you should come with me. I can’t quite explain with words what’s happened, and I think Georges will want you be at his side for the delegations.” Lafayette was still smiling, as he tugged Alex into a jaunty little strut towards the battlefield.

After a few minutes of walking, Alex finally caught up to Lafayette’s earlier words. “What do you mean delegations? This is a battlefield…” once again he trailed off, squinting at a fast approaching silhouette. After a few more seconds, and rapid fire blinking against the sun, it became apparent that Washington was standing on a hill staring down at the British camps.

“Your excellency, sir. I don’t understand what’s happening. Am I here to help create a battle plan? If so, I’ve got plenty of ideas, you see I think that we…”

“Hamilton. Talk Less.”

“Sir!”

“Just look. Please.”

Alex peered down at the camp, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He saw a flash of frantically moving white, and the momentum of the discovery knocked the breath out of him. “Sir! Is that? We Won! Sir!”

Alex could hardly form a coherent thought, something which Washington and Lafayette apparently took pleasure in, if the smirks on their faces could be trusted.

“Well boys, I think it’s time we have a chat with our dear Mister Cornwallis.” Washington began a brisk walk back to his tent, a pace that Alex had issues keeping up with.

Once they arrived, Alex began to frantically pack tools into a sack, trying to pack every item that could possibly be a necessity, as quickly as possible. Lafayette attempted to help him, as Washington stood to the side, aloof as always, with the exception of the small smile still plastered to his face. Right as they were leaving, a pageboy came running into the tent, waving a small handwritten note in Washington's face. Washington gave the note a quick once over, skimming the contents before plucking a pen out of Alex’s grasp, adding a notation, and handing it back the boy. “Deliver this to the sender. Go. As quickly as possible.”Washington commanded, leaving the tent before the boy could respond, all but dragging Alex and Lafayette with him.

Alex was curious about the note of course, but was so consumed with his plans of possible surrender issues, he soon forgot about the whole ordeal. They were joined by other aide to camps, as they journeyed to the neutral territory where British forces were already waiting. After many arguments, and what seemed like hours of writing, Alexander was falling asleep on his feet.Washington clapped him hard on the shoulder, laughing when Alex almost fell over.

“Everything is well on it’s way to being settled. Alex go back to camp. No arguments. Lafayette will escort you halfway there.” Washington commanded.

“But Sir. You might need me to-” Alex yawned loudly.

“Go Alex. I have other aides. Besides, I’m sure you want to go celebrate with your friends, as I know you aren’t sleeping any time soon, though you direly need it.” Washington made a shooing motion with his hands, making him resemble a mother or nanny.

Had Alex been paying attention before he left, he would have seen Washington’s look of despair, but of course Alex merely tumbled into the arms of Lafayette, trusting his friend to drag him to his tent or better yet the arms of his dear Laurens.

“Come mon ami. You need rest. Let’s go.” Lafayette smiled fondly, patting Alex’s arm before leading him towards the camp.

After much stumbling on the part of Alex, and too much work on Lafayette’s part, they finally reached Alex’s tent. “Where’s John, Laf? I have to tell John. We have to celebrate…” Alex mumbled into Lafayette’s shoulder.

“Just rest Alex. We will drink all night long tonight. I’ll buy your favorite wine, and we will celebrate for days, I promise. But first we all need a break.” with those words, Lafayette pushed Alex onto his cot, and attempted to wrestle off his shoes. With a cry of success, Lafayette dropped one shoe on the ground, and began working on the other. Just then a pageboy burst into the room, his face reddening at the strange happenings inside the tent. Alex blearily looked at him, owl eyes blinking slowly before he reached out his hand for the note he thought he saw in the boy’s hand.

“I’m sorry for interrupting sir.” the boy’s face darkened, before he forged ahead. “I’m to deliver you to the doctor’s tent.”

“What for? The War is over…” Alex yawned, long and deep.

“I’m not a liberty to say. But if you would hurry please sir. It’s an emergency.” the boy hopped foot to foot, tugging on his collar.

“Alright. Alright. I’m coming.” he stood up, walking halfway to the door, before realizing he was missing a shoe. He looked around quizzically, before realizing that it was in Lafayette’s hand. Thanking him, he laced in quickly, and strode out of the tent.

The doctor’s tent was in the center of camp, as it was easily the most defendable and convenient position. It took several minutes of walking at a brisk pace to reach the tent. The atmosphere was rapidly cooling as night approached, and the wind helped Alex shake the majority of the fog left in his brain. The boy led him straight to the main camp doctor, then quickly dismissed himself.

“Mr. Hamilton, come in. They brought him in a few hours ago. He’s lost a lot of blood, and the wound has quickly become infected...” A low moan filled the room, cutting off the rest of the doctor’s speech. Blood rushed out of his face, making him lightheaded. He knew that voice, but it couldn’t be. _The war was over. The war was over._ Pushing the doctor away, Alex fell to the ground in front of the cot holding his best friend.

“John. John. Can you hear me? Please John.” Alex choked back a harsh sob.

“Alex. Hi. Missed you. You remember that first night we met Alex…” John coughed, a long hacking thing, that stole his breath away.Alex cringed at the sound.

“I may not live to see our glory.” another cough wracked John’s body. Once he finished, he gave Alex a watery smile. “The doctor said we won. Alex. Did we really do it? Alex, say something. It’s not like you to be so quiet.”

“John. I’m so sorry. I should’ve been with you. It should be me laying there, not you. I should’ve come earlier. I didn’t know. You have to believe me. I didn’t know…” the tears were flowing freely from Alex by this point.

“Oh Alex. You had to do your job. I’m not more important than America. You have to promise me something. Make me proud. Make sure you're written down in History. Promise me Alex...” John was rapidly growing paler.

“NO. John stay with me. Stay alive. There’s so much we haven’t done yet. I should have been there. Don’t leave me. I need you. I need...” Alex was racked by sobs.

John’s grip on his hand grew slack. Alex looked up, and knew that he was gone. He had seen plenty of dead men in his time as a soldier, and knew the signs like the back of his own hand, like the back of Laurens’s hand. At this thought, his eyes were drawn to Laurens’s left hand, where he inexplicably saw a semi-familiar note. He quickly pocketed it, as the doctor ushered him out of the tent.

Arriving at his tent, Alex quickly lit a candle for which to read by and grabbed a bottle of wine sitting on the floor. Tearing off the bow and congratulatory note, he turned the bottle up and emptied half the contents into his stomach. After a few more gulps, he felt properly desensitized, and in the right mind to read what he assumed to be Lauren’s last words. As soon as he opened it, he recognized where he had seen the note. He choked back another sob, and began to read:

Washington,

_I have been shot. I know there is no hope of my survival, for the doctor’s grim face speaks volumes. I have heard the rumblings around the tent, and I know that we have won. I wish that you would not speak of my predicament to Alex, for you need him more than I do. America needs him more at this moment than I ever could, but he would rush to my side in a heartbeat if he knew. He can’t know until he has helped us succeed. If I am still living by the time you finish the surrender, I wish to see him. If not, tell him to speak of me fondly to his children. He will understand. I am glad that I have survived this long, and that I have died in the service of my country. Raise a glass to freedom for me General._

 

_The man who sent this letter shall be given the doctor’s full attention. A bottle of the finest wine in my tent will be given to the cause of making him as comfortable as possible in his last moments. If he is still living in three hours’ time, it is necessary that you sent a pageboy to fetch Alexander Hamilton. He will be considered his closest family and secluded area will be provided for their goodbyes. It is imperative that you follow these orders exactly, and keep this man alive as long as possible._

_George Washington_

Throughout the beginning of the note Alex felt drained and more exhausted than he had ever felt in his life. All he wanted to do was drown himself in drink, sleep, work, or possibly all three. Then he caught sight of a familiar scrawl and signature, and the contents of the note truly soaked through his drunken grief addled brain.

_Washington knew. He stood there in front of Alex and wrote the counterpart to this letter, forgoing the opportunity to let Alex see it. He brought Alex outside of camp to help with surrender delegations, and wasted three hours of John’s last moments, moments that Alex should have been granted. Alex should have been there, and the only reason he wasn’t was because Washington made an executive decision about events that he had no part in. All this was Washington’s fault._

Alex was filled with anger at that thought. This rage and drink controlled the next of movements, as he hurriedly shoved the note back into his pocket and rushed to the General’s tent. After much stumbling and bumping into things, Alex reached what appeared to be the General’s tent. He burst into the tent, anger and grief already coloring his thoughts.

“Sir! This is your fault…” Alex looked around, bewildered to find himself in a darkened tent. The General wasn’t even here. He was probably out celebrating, John’s death the farthest thought from his mind. Alex marched over to his desk, pulled out Washington’s secret stash of liquor and made himself at home. He might as well enjoy himself at the cost of Washington's pocket change. _The man had everything that Alexander could ever dream of. Power, wealth, love, authority, History would always look fondly upon Washington, just like his followers did_ , Alex thought bitterly. _Just when I thought I had everything I ever wanted, just when I thought I was on my way to being satisfied..._

“Hamilton!” Washington yelled in surprise, startled to find his former aide to camp sprawled out in his chair, a half empty bottle of liquor at his side. “Is there something you need?” Washington rocked on his heels for a moment, before seemingly coming to some inner decision on how to proceed. His back straightened, and a familiar glint of steel shown in his eyes.

Alex forgoing all social niceties, launched into a tirade. “This is your fault! All of this. You let him suffer alone without me. I should have been there. Who are you to make decisions for me? You didn’t need me that badly. Lafayette could have handled the delegations. You would have been fine without me.” Alex took a deep breath, preparing for his next points.

“Alex, son. I know you’re angry. I know it hurts. But you have to believe me, I only made the decision with your best interests in mind, our best interests. We needed you to help us maintain the changes in our favor. No one else is as brilliant as you, no one else could have truly persuaded the British the way you did. And I admit, I was selfish for keeping you with me, but I feel as though I was right in doing so. I needed you son, your country needed you.” Washington finished, looking like he had just delivered a resounding counter argument to Alexander’s grief.

“You should have told me. I had a right to know.” Alex sobbed out a harsh breath. 

“And what would have happened then son? You would have been distracted and emotional. You would have been of no use to me. No use to your country. And you would have never forgiven yourself if you didn’t have a hand in changing the course of History. I know you well, son. And that’s what gives me the right to make decisions for you.” Washington finished, a sympathetic smile gracing his face for a moment.

“Nothing gives you the right to make decisions for me! You are not my Father. I’m not your son!” Alex spat on Washington’s desk, his contempt for that despicable pet name making itself known. “I respected you. I trusted you and you betrayed me. You kept me away from the love of my life, you let my best friend suffer alone. And you say you loved him like a son. If you _loved_ either of us, you would have granted us time together. You would have treated us better, you’re despicable. I’m glad you have no children. You’d be a horrid father.” with each word it felt like the weight of the world was being taken off his shoulders. Liquor was singing through his veins, making him brash and bold. Washington’s face fell, his frame sunk in on itself. Alex relished in the pain he was causing, it made him feel slightly better. These feelings combined with the liquor, made him feel invincible.

“I challenge you to a duel sir. You have insulted my honor, my Laurens honor, and I must be satisfied. “ Alex smiled grimly. Either way this was a win win situation. If he died, he got to see Laurens again. If he won, then at least he’d no longer have to bear Washington’s presence.

“Go Home. Alexander. Your service is no longer needed. You’re drunk and you need to leave now. Get out.” Washington’s cold fury filled the room and stole Alex’s breath away.

“Sir!” Alex was furious, he would not be denied. “Sir I demand satisfaction!…”

“Hamilton. Home. Now.” Washington strode over to Alex, jerking him out of the chair in which he was draped over. He marched him over to the door and all but threw him out on his butt. A few seconds later, the bottle Alex had been drinking out of, sailed out of the door, landing next to him. It broke, the last of the contents sloshing out onto his coat.

After several minutes, Alex got up and began to walk back to his tent.

_He had work to do. So much work left to do._

**Author's Note:**

> Questions? Comments? Prompts? Flailing and emotional rants are always excepted!  
> You put them here or my tumblr is  
> princess-harley-quinn


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